by Ashley Beale
I don't say anything, I don't even look at Roman. I just continue to look around at my surroundings. He knows I hear him, but he also knows that I'm stubborn. He even admitted it earlier. I will be cautious, that much is certain, more for Clarissa's sake than mine though.
Roman zips his bag up and reaches for the handle of the car. I can hear the click before he swings it open. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so sorry." His whisper fills the car with so much volume. It's all I can hear, even after he exits the vehicle and closes the door. Those words I shouldn't trust, but somehow hang onto. The hope for being saved, for escaping, for something more.
My door opens and he reaches over to unbuckle me. The buckle slides into its slot and he backs away just enough for me to climb out. "Don't speak with me unless spoken to from here on out. Keep your answers clipped. Don't make me scold you, Liv, please." His eyes have more pleading in them than his words, and I give him a nod for understanding.
He hooks his hand to my upper arm, squeezing it tightly but probably not nearly as bad as to the other women he brings in here. One of the guards opens the front door made of thick metal for us without a glance and it slams hard behind us once we get through the passage.
The ground is made of cement, layered in dirt and other things I'm not even sure of. Cobwebs fall from different parts of the walls and ceiling, and at one point before we reach the end of the hall, a mouse scurries from one side to the other. I have to be thankful it was only a small field mouse and nothing more terrorizing. I'm sure there are rats, deadly spiders, and other disgusting creatures roaming around.
At the end of the hall, Roman brings me up a spiraled staircase, made of the same cement as the floor. I'm reminded of the beautiful one at his home, which had a view that I'd kill for. The irony is not lost on me.
We climb four levels of stairs before he slides a keycard through a slot and opens another metal door. Down another hallway, that is somehow even filthier than the first and smells of vomit, Roman pulls back a curtain and gives me a small shove. "This is your room."
I look around the room, which consists of four thin mattresses placed on the cold floor. Each one has two blankets so thin they may as well be see-through, and a worn pillow without a case. There is half a window in the room, which is cut off by a wall, which means the room next to us must have the other half of the window. It's literally an inch length and two inches in width at most. It gives off a warm breeze though, and the room smells a little better than the hallway. I can still smell the stale body odor in the air, and I'm honestly not sure it's something I can get used to.
Two other girls are in the room with me, one of which is sleeping. The one that is awake is dark colored with nappy curls matted to her head. She would have some beautiful hair if washed and picked through correctly. Her dress is far too short, and ripped in the arm and at the waist. She looks filthy, as if she rolled around on the dirt floors for fun.
There is no hint of a smile from her, and when I stare into her eyes, I feel like I'm looking at a lost child. She has been here far too long, I can tell by her skin and bones. She needs food, tons of water, and a long, hot bath. I want to hug her, tell her that she'll be okay, but it'd be a lie. She knows it and so do I.
"You need to change," Roman orders. "Take that off, your shoes too, and put on this."
I turn to face Roman as he unzips his bag and pulls out a dress. "You get one outfit a week- on Friday's when you have your shower. If you are rented from anyone and they offer a shower or bath, I suggest taking it. You get two meals a day, morning and night. If you're caught stealing, there will be consequences. No fights, no attempts in escaping, and if Javier, Blaise, or myself order you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?"
It takes me a moment to nod my head in response. I hate hearing these words from Roman, I hate being in this situation. I know I put myself here though, to save Clarissa, and I'll do what I need to get her out of here. I have to remind myself that it's all worth it. That one day, this will be a thing of my past. Maybe I can even save some of these other girls. I'm not sure how, all I know is that I have to at least try.
"Change," Roman barks out louder to me. "Now."
As fast as humanly possible, I strip from the dress I've had on from last night, kicking the heap of material away from me as I bend down and grab the rags Roman tossed in my direction.
I dress quickly, hating that my body is exposed in front of him. It’s loose on me, almost two sizes too large, hangs to my mid thighs. I actually don’t mind though, it’s a little more comforting having it fit so loosely. The material is worn though, and you can definitely see parts of my body I’d rather everyone not see.
"Pick it up," Roman says. He points to the beautiful gown I kicked away from me. I reach down and pick it up, then walk it to Roman. It isn't until I'm handing it to him that I see the shaking of his hands and jaw. If my instincts are correct, then he is loathing giving me these orders. Maybe everything he told me was the truth earlier. At this point though, I can’t be too sure of anything.
When he places the dress into his bag, he looks around at the other two in the room before facing me once more. "This is your room, these are your roommates. Get along with one another. I won't remind you of anything."
"Okay," I answer somberly.
When Roman disappears from behind the curtain, I feel my stomach turn in fear. I'm alone. All along I've had someone familiar in my view, whether it be Blaise, Rusty, or Roman, and although they're the bad guys, they were someone I knew. Now I'm alone. My stomach tells me that I'm not going to be left alone either. I know Javier will be here to see me, and I know he won't be nearly as... nice... as Blaise or Roman.
I look back to the girl who is awake in my room and give her a tightlipped smile. "Hi."
She sits on her bed, crisscrossing her legs, and covering them with a reedy blanket. She stares at me, but doesn't say anything back. "I'm Liv," I tell her, wanting her to respond.
Her eyes access me but she still doesn't speak. "Do you speak English or Español?"
"She doesn't speak either." I turn to the voice. A girl close to my age drops the curtain behind her and walks over to one of the mats on the floor. There is only one that hasn't been claimed, so I can only assume it's mine.
The girl has long golden brown hair, which falls in straight lengths down to her hips. Her skin has more of a glow than even mine does, and her clothes aren't nearly as worn. I feel as though she is either extremely new here, or is just favored by the men. Her light brown eyes look at me with raised brows. I can tell she is a queen bee, which is pathetic, considering where we are.
"Why doesn't she speak?" I ask her.
"Because she is a fucking idiot, that's why."
Her sharp words irritate me to no extent. It's obvious the girl has been through some rough shit, and she doesn't deserve to be called an idiot, especially not by some bitch who sits here, thinking she is better than any other female in this hell hole. "What gives you the right to say that?"
I know I need to not have enemies on my first day in here, especially with a roommate, but I can't bite my tongue. It’s always been a problem of mine.
"The fucking coon tried to escape one night when she was rented. They cut off her tongue instead of just killing her. Lucky bitch doesn't realize that just because she is black, she gets treated a little better than the rest of us."
My blood has never boiled so bad in my life. I cannot stand racist people, and I certainly cannot stand people who are ignorant fucks. Words cannot even express the anger I feel. My fists close, and the thought of punching this chick in the face is tempting, but I flex my hands to straighten them out, telling myself that I could literally be killed or tortured for fighting. I don't know the punishments, and if she truly is favored by someone, I can only imagine what would happen to me for punching her.
Instead I walk over to the poor young, innocent soul who only wanted to disappear from this world, and I sit next to her. She looks down at her folded
hands, acting as though she is used to that kind of unwitting torture. "Do you have a name?" I ask. "I can read sign language."
She shakes her head back and forth in answer.
A snort leaves the mouth of the preppy bitch sitting and staring. "Most of us don't have names anymore. We gave up on identifying ourselves. It's useless, honestly, because all we are is used and abused. Why would any of us want to be called what our parent's named us? To be reminded each day that our parents gave up on us? Sounds ridiculous to me."
A ping of remorse hits me. It’s possible she is only a bitch because it gives her a way to hide from everyone that she, too, is terrified. She wants to look strong, so she has become pathological. It makes sense, but it still doesn't give her the right to make racist remarks about someone who obviously has been through the ringer far more times than her.
"My parent's didn't give up on me," I tell her. "And I'm sure yours didn't either. I want to be called Liv, which is my birth name, because I want a constant reminder that I was loved by someone, and whether or not I leave here, I'll still be loved. I don't want to be a statistic, I want to be a human being. As should you."
I give her a weak smile, but she continues to stare at me with no emotion at all. "Well good for you, cupcake. I never had a dad, and my mom was more in love with her cocaine than she was with her only child, so I'm here as punishment for ever being born. I don't want that bullshit constant reminder that some nurse named me because my mom refused to, and that this will be my only home from here on out. Stupid cunt had to do more blow than she could afford, so I'm paying off her debt. I'll never leave this place, and honestly, I'm okay with that."
"How can you be okay with being here? Don't you ever want to leave?"
She looks over to the limited sky view as her forehead wrinkles. She loses herself in thought for a moment before answering, without so much as a glance back in my direction. "Not that I'll ever leave, but if I do, I want to find my biological sperm... and I want to kill him."
The girl lays down on her mat and covers herself in her thin blanket, still looking out the small window space. She doesn't say anything, so I don't either. I do know though that I'm going to call her Lizzie, after Lizzie Borden, who is infamous for killing her own father in the 1800's. I did a project on the story in high school and remember it well. Seeing the look in her eyes, and knowing how bad she wants revenge on a man who probably knows nothing of her, reminds me of the Lizzie story all too well.
I hold the hand of the young girl next to me. She is cold despite the warm temperature of this building. "Can I call you Opal? It's my favorite kind of gemstone, and I think you're precious enough to be named after it."
She squeezes my hand and leans her head on my shoulder. She may not be able to talk, or express herself with much excitement considering the situation at hand, but I know I just made her so happy. And because of that, I'm happy. Even if I can't save any of these girls, I'll make some kind of difference in their life. I'm determined more than ever to.
Opal wakes me up with a tap on the shoulder and I realize that I'm lying in her bed. I sit up quickly and apologize for taking her space. She shakes her head at me and points to the curtain, where voices are softly echoing down the hall. I look over to see the other two girls in our room are gone.
"Do we need to go?" I ask.
Opal nods her hand and walks over to the curtain, pulling it aside. Feet are marching down the hall, all of them bare against the disgusting floor. I stand up and stretch, pulling and twisting at the cricks in my neck and back. Opal starts making hand gestures, like we need to hurry, so I follow after her. We walk with the others down the hallway.
The area where we eat reminds me of a forgotten prison. There are some tables, but hardly anyone sits at them. Most everyone grabs a plastic tray and sits on the floor somewhere. I follow Opal, who grabs a tray and walks to a far corner, away from nearly everyone else. I remain near her, all the while looking for Clarissa.
The food is unrecognizable. I wouldn't even go as far as calling it mystery meat, it's more like... a curdled brown mess. I use the plastic spoon we're given and scoop up our supper. It pretty much tastes like burnt lettuce, in which case, I can actually handle. It could be much worse than what it is. With our so called meat, we also get a half slice of bread with no butter or jam, and a plastic cup of water.
I don't understand how anyone in here has actually survived more than a week. It doesn't seem possible.
"Is this all we get served?" I ask Opal.
She looks down at the food with a curled lip. It's a depressing face, and I know the answer without her saying a word. I wonder how long she has been here, and what her story is. It's obvious no one else is as dumb as me, turning themselves in to save a friend. Lizzie reminded me of that, that we all have our own stories, our own pasts, our own struggles. I want to know their stories, every single one of them.
A body slides down the wall next to me. The girl is the youngest I've seen yet, maybe ten. I have to hold in the shock, because I want to cry. This girl should not be in here. None of us should be, but her especially. She is far too young!
"Hi," she says with a weak smile. I can see the need for excitement in her eyes. She is young enough she needs to be outside kicking around a soccer ball, or chasing boys, spreading her cooties.
I give her my strongest smile, not wanting her to see the fear I have for her in my eyes. She still looks somewhat healthy, so I'm hoping that means she hasn't been in here long. I can promise myself right now, that even if I don't get Clarissa out with me, I will get this little girl out of here.
"Hi, what's your name?"
"Mia. What about you?" Her round, blue eyes look at me with interest.
"My name is Liv. How old are you?" I ask, not wanting to know the answer, but needing to. Mainly for the sake that when I see Roman again, I can kick him in the balls as hard as possible, and demand he let her go!
"I'm thirteen and three-fourths," she tells me with pride. A little older than expected, but still far too young. The poor girl probably hasn't even started her period or had her first boyfriend. Life really is far too unfair to so many people, especially someone so purely virtuous.
I want to ask her more questions, but I'm scared with all these people in the room. I know Roman said there are rats, and I'm scared if I ask too many questions, people will become suspicious. Instead, I tell her, "That's cool, I'm not much older than you. I'm only eighteen."
"Why are you here?" she asks innocently.
I realize that I should probably have a better answer than, I'm here to save my friend and get the hell out of dodge. I think on it for only a moment, before I come up with a lie. "I was on vacation in Mexico and met a man I thought was good for me, but it turns out he ended up being a cruel monster. Now I'm here, but hopefully not forever."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
She brings her knees up to her chest and leans her head against the stone wall. "My parents divorced when I was nine and my dad moved to Texas. We lived in Michigan, so for one month each summer and one week during the school year, my mom sent me to stay with my dad. He lived with this guy I called Uncle Esteban, even though he wasn't actually my uncle. He was nice enough, at first. This summer though, he started acting funny. When I was in the shower, he'd make excuses to use the restroom, and when I was sleeping, he'd come in and lay down with me. I never told my dad, because he told me I’d get in trouble.
"Two nights before I was supposed to go back with my mom, I finally kneed him in the privates when he tried to get a little grabby. He hit me really hard, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the backseat of his car. I wound up here hours later, and haven't seen him or my parents ever again."
I'm unable to consume any more of my food, so I place my tray down in front of me. It takes me a few minutes to finally respond. "How long have you been here?"
"I don't know. A month or two, I think. I gave up counting after day eleven. There was no use an
y more."
"I'm sorry that happened to you. You don't deserve to be here."
She smiles softly at me, as if she is reassuring herself about something. "None of us deserve to be here. That is why we should all be friends."
"You're definitely correct about that."
"Which room is yours?" She asks.
"I don't know how to explain it. Are there assigned room numbers or something?"
Opal taps on my arm and signs out the letters, r-e-d. "Red?" I ask her, and she nods.
I look to Mia and shrug. "I guess red."
"Awesome. That is my favorite color. I'm in room teal."
"What is with the colors?" I ask her.
She giggles softly. "You'll learn. I need to go empty my tray and use the bathroom."
Mia hops up and walks away from me, with a little sway in her walk. She still has a little hope left in her life; my hope is that she isn't here much longer, that she has a future full of laughter and happiness. She obviously deserves that much.
Opal and I sit together in silence, watching over the crowd of people. She taps on my leg and points to my tray when she is ready to toss everything. When she walks away from the trash I follow her into an open-spaced bathroom. There are four toilets, all lined up together, with absolutely no toilet paper anywhere in sight. There is one sink with hard water stains showing where the water drips, but there isn't even a roll of paper towels to dry our hands with. My first thought is, how in the hell do I wipe after I shit? Good thing I don't have to right now.
Once we get back into our rooms, the sky starts to darken, and everyone lays down on their mat. I lay on mine and look out towards the small window. There is no artificial light, which means we must have to go to bed and wake up with the sun. It's all extremely depressing, and I'm finally starting to get a better understanding of how poverty and slavery works. Somehow I feel as though we have things better than other people, but in many ways, it's obviously worse.
Hands wrap around me at some point in the night, and I peek open my eye. I can hardly see anything, but because of the moon, I can see a hint of thick brown hair, greased to the top of a little girl's head. It's Mia, holding me tightly. I wrap myself around her, and hold her the way I would a little sister or a niece.